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“I'm aging about ten years here, asshole.”
“Will you stay still already? You're not making it easier.”
“I never want it easy. What even makes you think–”
There's a sharp gasp, Todoroki's lubed up finger making a wet sound as it pushes its way inside Bakugou, and the bed creaks ominously. There's, after that, something beautifully obscene about the way Bakugou's knee twitches and his leg jerks violently; not so beautiful, though, when it hits Todoroki and makes him lose the pace he'd been so carefully building up. He pulls his fingers out, flexes them, and glances curiously at the open space they leave behind.
“You fucking creep,” Bakugou spits out, but he's smiling a ferocious grin that shows the pink of his tongue and the white of his teeth. It matches nicely the sheets and pillows under him. “What you starin' at?”
“This,” Todoroki answers plainly, and he brushes those same slick, cold fingers against tender skin that tenses up under his touch, closing up once more.
“That was a rhetorical question, for fuck's sake.” Some shifting and squirming, an impatient huff, and the smile returns, morphing into something lazy and inviting and daring. “Go again, then, c'mon. I can take all you can give me.”
“I already know that,” Todoroki assures him, tilting his head to get a stray lock of white hair out of his eyes. He looks up at Bakugou in dry amusement. “You say it every time.”
“I mean it every time.”
“I also know that.”
Todoroki Shouto knows, it turns out, a lot of things about Bakugou Katsuki. He knows Bakugou is a cocktail of insecurity issues rolled up in a tight comfort blanket of bravado and strength, he knows Bakugou smiles sincerely once every three blue moons if Jupiter and Mars are aligned and you tilt your head in a thirty-three degree angle, he knows Bakugou as well as five years of dating someone can allow you to know them (all the pretty things and the ugly things and the disturbing gaps in between).
And he knows, in great detail, that Bakugou doesn't like waiting. Especially not in bed.
Two fingers go in again, and Bakugou stretches comfortably on the mattress with a satisfied sound of pleasure. It crawls all the way up his throat, out of his mouth, and seems to directly slide its way into Todoroki's to end up settling nicely between his legs after fighting its way down his body, making sparks explode in his stomach in the process. All the places that sound has set aflame pulse and burn like an injury, and it seems only logical to think of it that way when Bakugou makes sleeping with him something strategic and wild, straight out of a battlefield.
A third finger -slow, nice, easy, even if that's not how Bakugou wants it- and his back is arching, tensing up every muscle. Todoroki lets his eyes linger on every curve and dip, and when he runs his free hand over Bakugou's abdomen with just the barest hint of scraping nails, Bakugou clenches his jaw and makes another noise that goes lower and deeper than before, coming all the way up from his chest. This time, there's no journey throughout Todoroki's body. This time, it goes straight to his dick and stays there.
Bakugou's beautiful in that way only natural disasters are beautiful, and Todoroki supposes it's good for both of them that he's always been good at bending the laws of nature.
He's the one that bends now, though, leaning in to press his tongue to Bakugou's ribcage and work his way up. There's some things they can say in bed (fuck me like you hate me) (I don't hate you) (what the fuck, me neither, just go with it) but there's some things Todoroki would rather keep unsaid, like his very obvious thing for Bakugou's chest and, more specifically, for the deep red-brown nipples that glaringly harden when Todoroki's fingers are up Bakugou's ass. He nips at one of them, sucks and licks until he's painfully aware of the taste of his own spit. Then he applies just the enough amount of cold with his free hand until Bakugou groans and turns his head to uselessly try to bite the pillow. His chest flutters as he pushes it up like an invitation, giving up territory for taking and conquering, and the unattended nipple seems to beg for the warm care of Todoroki's lips to fight the sudden cold.
Having three fingers inside someone while also dedicating time to both their nipples is not exactly easy, but Todoroki supposes he doesn't want it easy, either. Not tonight, at least. It's okay, sometimes, and Bakugou always makes a fight out of it anyway, so it's never fully easy. Straightforward at best, a real pain at worst. Tonight's one of those lost somewhere in the middle.
He says God, your fucking quirk in weak anger, and Todoroki replies, You also say this every time, Bakugou.
“Fuck you.”
“Okay. Next time.”
“And fuck your dual-wielding too."
It's the opposite of sensory overload. Where before he was sucking on Bakugou's nipples and rubbing them with his fingers while his other hand stretched him open and ready, now Todoroki pulls everything away. He takes back his hands, the warmth, the cold; he even stops grinding his hard-on against the back of Bakugou's thigh for some quick friction that never feels half as good as the real thing. Bakugou makes a pathetic whimpering sound and his hips twitch up into the air, undulating in a smooth wave-like motion, and now he does bite the pillow, hard enough that his neck tightens and veins poke against flushed skin.
Todoroki reaches out and touches, and it's that sudden and contained contact -fingertips barely pressing against the column of an exposed throat- that makes Bakugou break. He bumps his knee roughly against Todoroki's side and lays his arms on the pillow next to his head with curled fingers, offering himself. It'd look almost delicate in its vulnerability, if Bakugou wasn't looking at Todoroki like he could kill him on the spot, and if that hand pose wasn't exactly the clenching motion he adopts right before blowing things up.
“And fuck me.”
Oh.
“Tonight, if you'd like that, you sadistic little fucker.”
Ah.
It wrenches a smile out of Todoroki, and Bakugou narrows his eyes and his fingers twitch dangerously like he's seriously considering blowing the room up, but then he sees something in Todoroki's face that holds him back and ends up with his mouth curving too. His legs open in a deliberate move. Bruises show on the inside of his thighs. Todoroki touches those too, pressing slightly the way he knows Bakugou wants. Not enough to hurt, but just to make the memories of two nights ago ache.
Maybe he is a little sadistic.
Not enough for him to choke Bakugou into passing out or burning him with his hand until he's scarred forever the way Bakugou begs for when he's getting fucked into the mattress and he's letting everything out without stops or barriers. But maybe a little. Enough for Bakugou to put up with his delicate soft pastel bullshit, and not kick Todoroki's ass out of bed when they fall asleep together. Also, apparently, enough for Bakugou to be pleased enough to make breakfast in the morning.
Every morning.
(“I don't want to hurt you,” Todoroki had said once, finally fed up after Bakugou asked him to punch him in the throat while he was riding Todoroki and borderline drooling. Later that night with his stomach still wet and sticky, Bakugou had said, It's not fucking hurting me if I ask for it, but fine. Have it your way.)
(Then he kissed Todoroki in the mouth a little too soft and nice and brief, with a gentle tug of his teeth, and that was the end of it.)
So yeah, tonight it is, and yeah, Todoroki would definitely like that.
He lets Bakugou spread some lube on his cock, as usual, and threaten with blowing Todoroki up if he makes him wait, as usual. Then Todoroki hooks Bakugou's legs on his shoulders, turns his head to kiss the closest portion of skin available, and gets life-threatened again. He regards Bakugou a little fondly, says I'm ready, and Bakugou mutters a sarcastic About goddamn time that makes the fondness in Todoroki's chest grow ten sizes and turn into full-blown overwhelming affection. This is also another usual part of this, when Bakugou sees all that naked intimacy and looks away and pretends nothing serious is going on here. Like this is just some nice sex on a Friday night and Todoroki hasn't seen him cry his eyes out and held him through it, while Bakugou kicked and screamed. Like Todoroki didn't stay with him and picked up some pieces, put them back together, and offered them back to Bakugou with bleeding hands.
Or like Bakugou didn't do the same for him.
As some people say, they've been through a lot.
This part (the fucked up part, Bakugou would probably call it if he were one to acknowledge it) doesn't last long, not anymore. Bakugou gets over it quickly enough, snapping out of that self-defense mechanism all by himself, and meeting Todoroki's mismatched eyes once more. He holds his gaze through the slow burning process of Todoroki's cock splitting him apart, and when Todoroki kisses his leg again, Bakugou doesn't look away; instead, he watches him with that quiet intensity that can make things explode with the same skill as his hands, and tugs with his legs on Todoroki's shoulders so Todoroki has to lean in a little.
A third smile appears. He must be in a good mood. He throws his head back when Todoroki thrusts in sharply, and Todoroki thinks everything's going surprisingly well and oddly normal, but of course that doesn't last long.
“Are you going to burn me now?”
“No.”
God fucking damnit not this shit again, a voice says in Todoroki's head that sounds a lot like Bakugou. You pick up some habits and traits in a relationship, he thinks idly. The incredulity and exasperation are thick enough that he rewards Bakugou's unusually kind request with this: energy gathers inside his hand, but instead of releasing it with the intention to hurt, he lets it linger there with a less homicidal purpose. He trails his fingers down Bakugou's thighs, slow and steady, spreading warmth all over skin that's starting to show the first signs of sweat. This worried Todoroki in the early days of their relationship before Bakugou said It's just my hands, idiot, sounding slightly disappointed.
He seems about to lash out with some whines and complaints about Todoroki's soft bullshit again, so Torodoki makes the heat a little hotter and sharper, and Bakugou's eyes widen before they close in bliss. There's smoke coming out of his hands, clenching into fists around the sheets. By now Todoroki's used to this and trusts Bakugou's self-control and self-awareness, and there's also that one little fact that he's fucking Bakugou into the mattress, so the smoke is pushed somewhere down in his list of priorities.
Priority number one: Bakugou Katsuki is good in bed. Even if he's just on his back getting the pounding of his life, he makes these low mewling sounds, arches up and squirms, twitches, the whole thing. Todoroki watches and watches and watches some more, could watch the whole night and up until sunset probably, and that takes him to-
Priority number two: Bakugou Katsuki doesn't like the watching so much; he prefers the part where he gets fucked until he forgets quirks exist, his name maybe, and also his current location. Feeling merciful, Todoroki pulls out, shushes him when Bakugou starts (Why the fu-), and flips him over by the hips. Bakugou hisses when the hand that had been gradually getting hotter against his thigh suddenly makes contact with his neglected hipbone, and it's a sound of dull pleasure that makes Todoroki wonder, once more, why he doesn't give in to the demands and just burns him.
The first time he went down this train of thought, Todoroki pulled out on the spot and left the room, and Bakugou punched him in the face the next time they saw each other.
Now Todoroki just brushes it off easily (I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt you, I'm not going to hurt you) and focuses instead on holding Bakugou's impatient hips down with one hand, and wrapping cold fingers around his throat with the other. Some heat and some choking; Bakugou can't complain tonight, really, and if he does, that's because he's a pushy asshole that likes to provoke and kick down the metaphorical doors of all of Todoroki's carefully built boundaries.
“I can hear you thinking,” Bakugou says in a low raspy voice full of joy, for all that it sounds like he's about to asphyxiate to death. He can't even turn his head, with the way Todoroki's fingers are holding it still by the neck. “Fuckin' stop that.”
So Todoroki stops.
And when Bakugou comes within five seconds of Todoroki touching his dick, he thinks briefly (this is so much better than hurting you) before he presses his hips fully to Bakugou's ass, and stops thinking altogether again.
The next day, Bakugou has new bruises on his throat, matching the fading ones on his thighs. The kitchen is bathed in a golden light when Todoroki comes in, walks up to him, wraps an arm around his waist, and reaches up with his other hand to touch Bakugou's neck. Kindly, gently. He nuzzles the space between Bakugou's strong shoulders, and listens to the quiet rhythmic sound of breakfast cooking in the morning.
“It's still some pastel bullshit,” Bakugou reminds him, with a raspier voice that will probably last all weekend, “but it's alright. You make up for it. No wonder you're half and fucking half.”
Todoroki hums in groggy agreement and says, “G'morning. Smells nice.”
“Of course it does.”
“I mean you.”
“Uh? What the hell. Okay? Fuck, alright, damn.”
When Todoroki laughs, Bakugou hits him with the spatula, while his back vibrates too. It's some pastel bullshit, definitely, and it just so happens that Todoroki likes it this way.